


A Summer of Plums and Peaches

by gompadre



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M, country boy vs city boy, giggly dorks, lots of sweat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:20:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21929626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gompadre/pseuds/gompadre
Summary: Jongin visits his grandmother every summer in the rural town in Korea where she lives. There are two problems with this: he can hardly speak Korean and he hates the heat. One day, he gets lost and ends up in a patch of poisonous vines when he meets Kyungsoo, the farmer boy with a heavy country accent who doesn't believe Jongin doesn't speak Korean. This summer vacation is going to be a long one.
Relationships: Do Kyungsoo | D.O/Kim Jongin | Kai
Comments: 54
Kudos: 255
Collections: Kaisoo OLAO Chapter Two





	A Summer of Plums and Peaches

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt #RP17

He is lost. There’s no denying it now, when all he can see is green. Well, there are two houses and the remains of a fence that’s covered in some sort of vine, but the rest is a canopy of pine. Even the road peters out, cracked and split by tufts of grass until there’s no asphalt left. Well fuck.

He loves his grandma, he really does, but he doesn’t love visiting the remote village she lives in. All he does is sleep, whether it’s in the sweltering heat of his room or the sweltering heat of the living room (which usually leaves him with neck pain; he hasn't mastered the art of couch sleeping yet). And eat. A lot. He won’t complain (much) about that, but he's also a little worried about his figure.

She’d kicked him out of the house earlier in the morning to “explore the town,” but Jongin was cranky and uncooperative so he went in the opposite direction, feeling very smug and smart. But now he’s lost. And sweaty. And angry. He walks over to the fence and gives it a kick, muttering a string of curse words under his breath until a shout cuts him off. He doesn’t pay much attention, continuing his abuse of the splintering wood, but the shout comes again, something that sounds like “stop doing that, get out of there” but in a thicker country accent than his grandmother’s. He finally pauses, foot propped on the fence, when the source of the voice comes into view. Well shit. He's cute.

Jongin’s ears heat up, and he tries to rest his elbow on his knee, hoping he looks nonchalant and dewy like TVXQ in Summer Dream. The guy who shouts pauses, a look of confusion cutely scrunching his features. He’s in overalls, long sleeves rolled up to his elbows and gardening gloves on his hands. Jongin has no idea how he hasn't had heat stroke.

He tries a smile, the corner of his mouth twitching when he feels the sweat drip down his back. The Cute Guy points to the vines again, which are bunched at Jongin’s foot and along the fence, stirring in the thick breeze. He also says something that sounds like “those grape trees are going to kiss you a rash,” which doesn’t make sense so Jongin just smiles wider and nods. Then he realizes…

“Fuck!” he yelps, jumping out of the vine patch and onto the goopy asphalt. He should’ve known better than to trample through unknown plants. Stupid city boy. But really, who can he blame but himself?

The Cute Guy looks a little amused. He comes over and squats, peering at Jongin's ankles, which makes Jongin balk and take a step away.

"You city boys,” the Cute Guy tsks, “Ivy got your tongue too?”

“English,” Jongin grumbles.

Cute Guy’s eyebrows shoot up. “Yeah, sure."

“I— what? I can’t talk to you,” Jongin splutters. “I can’t speak Korean.”

Cute Guy frowns up at him. “You’re speaking Korean right now.”

“I mean I don’t know more than this!”

“I don’t see how this makes you soft,” the Cute Guy grumbles.

“What?” Jongin squeaks.

“Stop yelling,” the Cute Guy hisses. “You should go home and put on cucumber powder on your legs.”

“Cu..cumber powder?” Jongin asks.

Cute Guy snorts. “Just because you’re a city boy doesn’t mean you have to act so ignorant. I said oatmeal.”

“Oh!” Jongin squeaks. “Right. That makes more sense.”

Then Cute Guy is narrowing his eyes at Jongin and Jongin can’t figure out why. He gulps and tries to scratch his left ankle with the top of his sneaker but Cute Guy smacks his thigh. Ow. But also...that was kinda hot.

“Don’t bold it!”

“Huh?”

But then Jongin realizes Cute Guy actually said don’t scratch it and he blushes. “Right, sorry.”

“Go home and treat that,” Cute Guy says, finally standing up. And now that his face is so much closer to Jongin’s, Jongin can’t help but stare. His lips are ridiculously full and deep pink, and the little sheen of sweat above his lip looks cute. And then there’s the matter of his eyes, wide and wonderfully warm and very expressive. And also giving him a very confused look.

“Right. Okay. I’m leaving now,” Jongin squeaks.

Cute Guy raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything else. He just waves and watches Jongin as he stumbles down the road because wow, his ankles are really itchy now. And his shirt is sticking to his back, and he’s just sweaty and grimy all over.

But thankfully his grandma is resourceful, as most grandmothers are. She clucks at him once she sees the red rash that has spread halfway up his shins, then fills up a bucket with warm water and oatmeal for him to dip his feet in. Which he does after he showers, because he needs to wash off before he sweats some more. Then he’s dunking his feet into the bucket, a sigh of relief taking the tension out of his shoulders as the oatmeal bath works its wonders.

Which means his thoughts inevitably turn back to Cute Guy. He doesn’t remember ever seeing him before, but Jongin was even less adventurous as a kid, so it’s not  _ super _ weird. And he would never have forgotten a face that pretty. Jongin’s cheeks flush. But he’d also made a fool of himself in front of him. Maybe it’s best he just hides in his grandma’s house for the rest of the trip.

❂❂❂

But grandma has a different idea. She lets him wallow around the house until the rash clears up, then she’s waking him up early each morning, dragging him out of bed and throwing him out on the street so he can be a “grown up” and “familiarize himself with the town.” Usually Jongin just hides on the hanok porch that hangs off the side of the house, which isn’t really hiding and ends up being more work because he has to climb off and  _ actually _ hide under it when his grandma comes near the window, but he’s just not that social. Thankfully, the neighbor to the left of the house is just a field of persimmon trees and the orange tabby that sleeps in them. He won’t tell on Jongin. Or so Jongin hopes.

But his ruse ends the day he falls asleep on the porch and his grandma catches him, splayed out on the warm wood floor and sweating in the afternoon heat.

So she invites someone over the next morning, when Jongin still hasn’t brushed his teeth or splashed his face with some water, when he’s still squinting his eyes because he hasn’t rubbed the sleep out of them. Which means, naturally, that the person his grandma invites is the Cute Guy. Fuck.

Jongin balks and runs back to his room, rubbing his face with his blanket and patting his hair down. Not that any of that is of much use. He still looks like a mess. But he doesn’t have much time to think about it because his grandma is barging into the room and dragging him out by his ear. She shoves him into the bathroom, prattling on about how rude he is, then walks out.

He has fifteen minutes to shower and get ready. That’s the time limit his grandma gave him. And he actually (miraculously) makes it, even though his hair is still sopping wet by the time he slides into the living room. Cute Guy is sitting by the open window, the heavy breeze ruffling his thick hair, and he looks at Jongin with startled eyes. Cute. Super cute.

“How are your legs?” Cute Guy asks.

“Legs?” Jongin stupidly repeats. “Oh, um. Good.”

“He’s not very talkative, is he, ahjumma?” Cute Guy asks Jongin’s grandma.

Wow. Rude. But his grandma is giggling at that. Wow. Double rude.

“He’s just shy,” his grandma says.

“I can’t speak Korean!” Jongin squeaks.

“Nonsense, Jongin, of course you can,” his grandma says, waving at him dismissively.

He grits his teeth but doesn’t press it.

“This is Kyungsoo, he can show you around town so you don’t sweat on my porch every day,” his grandma says.

Kyungsoo. Cute name for a cute guy. Jongin approves. And the smile that Kyungsoo is giving him right now is really sweet. So sweet it makes his knees kinda wobbly.

“I’ll keep him out of the ivy for you, ahjumma,” says Kyungsoo.

His grandma laughs and slaps Kyungsoo lightly on the shoulder. “You’ll take good care of him, I know it.”

But the town is so small the tour is over in two hours. And it only takes two hours because it’s so hot out they  _ have _ to walk slowly, searching for shade whenever possible. Not that it makes much of a difference. And the walk is excruciatingly quiet. Kyungsoo occasionally points to a shop and tells him something about it, and every once in a while an ahjumma in capris will wave at Kyungsoo from her yard and he’ll return the wave while Jongin stands behind him, awkward as ever, hands in his pockets. Kyungsoo seems like he’s on the verge of speaking each time Jongin looks at him, but nothing. Awkward silence. It’s like Kyungsoo wants  _ Jongin _ to start the conversation, but with Jongin’s toddler-style Korean, that’s not going to happen.

They end up in the smoothie shop with the faded (and outdated) Zico standee, drinking kiwi pineapple juice out of thick straws. They sit on the low wall across the street, the cicadas drowning out any efforts at conversation that Jongin wants to start. He  _ does _ peek at Kyungsoo often though, just to look at his owl eyes, and to look at his pink, plush lips wrapped around the straw. Oops. No. That’s bad. Jongin gulps, fiddling with his own straw.

Once they’re done, it’s the slow walk back to his grandma’s house. Jongin drags his feet the whole time, trying to make a little tune out of the scraping of his sandals against the asphalt. Kyungsoo watches his feet for a while, but he doesn’t say anything. Jongin is pretty sure Kyungsoo smiles though. He’ll count that as a win.

☁︎☁︎☁︎

It rains for two days. Which Jongin is absolutely ecstatic about. In fact, when he wakes up the first morning and sees the downpour, he dances his way out of his room, and out of the bathroom, and into the kitchen (until his grandma smacks his side and tells him to stay out of her way). On the first day he sits on the porch with the orange tabby by his side, both of them content to watch the rainwater rush off the eaves of the roof for hours on end. On the second day, he lazes about in his room in his boxers, windows open to let in the cool breeze. The tabby follows him in and curls up on his backpack.

But on the third day, the rain stops. Jongin wakes up to the regular hazy sky and kicks his feet in protest. But that doesn’t make it rain. Bummer.

He still hopes he can somehow stay in, but after breakfast there’s a knock on his door.

“Yes?”

“Your grandmother sent me back here,” Kyungsoo says, poking his head into Jongin’s room.

And Jongin’s response is to groan. So much for staying in.

“She said you like peaches,” Kyungsoo continues, but he sounds a little grumpy.

Jongin peeks at him, and— yeah, that’s the face of someone who is offended. There’s a little furrow on his brow and he’s pouting. Great, now Jongin feels like an asshole.

“I love peaches,” Jongin says, and he hopes he doesn’t sound like too much of a creep when he does.

The corner of Kyungsoo’s lips tugs into a smile. A tiny smile, but still a smile. It makes Jongin’s heart warm.

“Well, you’re going to try the freshest, juiciest peaches you’ve ever had, city boy,” Kyungsoo says.

Jongin sputters for a moment, because he wants to respond but his Korean always falters when he’s flustered. “Not city boy!” Well, he is a city boy but not a Seoul city boy, he’s a San Jose city boy, which definitely made a difference.

“Mhm,” Kyungsoo says with a smug smile.

Jongin doesn’t protest any more because that smug smile is actually kind of hot. So he just meekly shuffles out behind Kyungsoo.

The walk is in the opposite direction from the town center, down a paved but dusty road. That the dust is so ingrained in the asphalt despite two days of torrential rain is astounding to Jongin, but it exists there nonetheless, wedged between the creases of the road. Soon the road is enveloped in a canopy of pine, which keeps the sun out but the humidity in. It’s muggy and Jongin knows he’s going to be disgustingly sweaty by the time he gets home. He  _ really _ hates summer.

But after a while the trees open up to the right, and the ripe, thick scent of summer peaches floods the air. Jongin takes a deep breath.

“Wow.”

“Wait until you taste,” Kyungsoo says, his cheeks dewy as he smiles.

Jongin wants to pinch Kyungsoo’s cheeks. Really badly. And maybe smoosh them a little and rub his nose against them. Okay, he needs to stop. Mostly because he’s been staring too much, but also because they’re almost at the peach grove.

A wizened man in overalls and gloves waves at them. Well, he’s waving at Kyungsoo, and Jongin does his usual hide-behind-the-shorter-person routine with an awkward half smile.

“Can we pick a few?” Kyungsoo asks.

The man nods and waves for them to take a bag, which Jongin does, but Kyungsoo promptly snatches it out of his hand.

“Hey!”

“You’re going to pick them,” Kyungsoo says.

There’s amusement in his voice and it makes Jongin’s ears burn. “I don’t know good fruit.”

“Eh?”

“How to...skip fruit?”

“What?” Kyungsoo scrunches his nose. Then, “Oh, you don’t know how to pick fruit.”

“Yes,” Jongin mumbles.

“Tsk, tsk,” Kyungsoo shakes his head. “It’s simple. Not too soft, not too hard.”

Jongin wants to tell him that it’s really not simple at all, but he’s also not trying to make himself look like too much of a fool so he settles for swallowing hard and approaching the most peach-laden tree. The branches hang heavy with fruit, the perfume so strong it makes Jongin feel like he’s going to smell like peaches for the rest of the summer. He thinks he’d like that.

He reaches for one that’s on the edge, then changes his mind and snakes his hand between the branches for one that looks extra plump. He gives it the gentlest squeeze, biting his lip in triumph when it feels just right. Well, he  _ thinks _ it’s just right. He looks over his shoulder, blushing when he meets Kyungsoo’s eyes.

“You’re supposed to pick it, not feel it up,” Kyungsoo says.

That makes Jongin blush more, because he’d like to feel up Kyungsoo’s peachy ass, but he tries to stay serious and focused. He pulls, grunting when the fruit doesn’t budge.

“Don’t!” Kyungsoo squeaks. “Twist and pull, or else you’ll bruise it.”

Jongin’s ears are burning up. Just another box checked on the dumb city boy list, huh. He can’t not make a fool of himself in front of Kyungsoo. But he listens, twisting the fruit; he squawks when it pops right off the branch, almost dropping it in surprise.

“Whoa…”

Kyungsoo snorts, giggling when Jongin frowns at him. “Cute.”

Jongin balks. But then he gets over it because Kyungsoo just called him  _ cute _ .

Now that he knows the trick, he gets a little  _ too _ excited picking peaches. He fills the bag quickly, grimacing when a peach threatens to tumble out of the bag. Then he realizes Kyungsoo is about to pay.

“Hey! I was going to pay for this!” Jongin squawks.

“Why?” Kyungsoo asks, wrinkling his nose.

“B-because you’re younger than me!”

“I’m your hyung,” Kyungsoo says, raising his eyebrows at Jongin.

“No you’re not,” Jongin guffaws, but then he sees the Very Serious look on Kyungsoo’s face. “Wait, really?”

Kyungsoo’s answer is to hand the cash over to the farmer. Jongin blushes and twists the final peach off the branch without protest.

“I thought I was older,” he says meekly.

“ _ I _ am, you dummy,” Kyungsoo giggles.

“Well  _ sorry _ ,” Jongin grumbles.

“Come on, don’t drop any of them,” Kyungsoo says.

He leads Jongin through the grove until they come out on the other side. They climb up a hill and sit down on a rock that crests it; Jongin places the bag of peaches between them.

Kyungsoo takes one out and rubs it against his shirt, then hands it to Jongin with a smile. And Jongin takes it with a smile. He feels so awkwardly bashful he doesn’t know what to do with himself. So he starts on the peach.

But holy  _ shit _ it’s super juicy. It drips onto his chin before he’s even realized what happened. Of course, Kyungsoo giggles at him. He whines, wiping the juice off his chin with the back of his hand but now he’s sticky all over.  _ Great _ . It  _ is _ the tastiest peach he’s ever had though, so he leans forward while he eats to let the juice drip onto pebbles. And then he stares at Kyungsoo. For peach-eating techniques, not for any other reason. Not at all. Nope.

But that’s a bust because he wants to kiss Kyungsoo now. He wants to know what it’s like to taste bruised peaches on Kyungsoo’s lips. It doesn’t help that the peaches are stupidly juicy, because it keeps glossing Kyungsoo’s lips, which makes things  _ even worse _ because that means Kyungsoo’s tongue keeps darting out to lick his lips and  _ ugh _ , Jongin wants to be the one licking those peachy lips.

Heat floods his cheeks. He  _ really _ needs to stop being so obvious with his staring. Thankfully, Kyungsoo doesn’t seem to have noticed.

“We should’ve gotten a water bottle,” Kyungsoo says, licking a fat drop of peach juice off of his latest bite mark. Jongin’s brain goes haywire.

“Huh?”

“Water bottle,” Kyungsoo repeats.

“Oh…why?”

Kyungsoo gives him an amused look, eyes flicking to the mess on Jongin’s chin.

“Shut up,” he mumbles.

Kyungsoo giggles. Which means Jongin can’t stay mad. Obviously.

“How are we going to use all these peaches?” Jongin finally asks.

“Eat them with every meal, I guess,” Kyungsoo says with a shrug. “Or share them. I can take a few to my parents.”

Jongin nods at this. Very sensible. The peach fragrance must be affecting his brain because he’d definitely had a mini-meltdown thinking he was going to have to eat fifteen peaches by himself. Not his brightest moment.

“Come on, let’s head back. It’s going to get nasty hot out soon,” Kyungsoo says, pushing himself off the rock.

Jongin wants to whine that it’s  _ always _ nasty hot, but he figures that’s going to earn him another comment about being a pampered city boy, so he stays silent and follows Kyungsoo down.

When they arrive, his grandma gives him a hug, sticky peach juice and all, for bringing such wonderful fruit.

❂❂❂

“Ice cream?” Jongin asks.

“Hm?”

“Want ice cream?”

Kyungsoo nods, but it’s a little absentminded. Jongin’s starting to realize that Kyungsoo is usually always zoning out, but it doesn’t bother him. It’s actually kind of cute, the way Kyungsoo’s big eyes stare, unfocused, at whatever happens to be in front of him. In this case it’s at the tabby, which has settled under Jongin’s window with a purr.

“So…let’s go?”

“Lead the way,” says Kyungsoo.

“I don’t know the way!” Jongin squeaks.

Kyungsoo giggles. Ugh, now Jongin’s flustered because he feels dumb but also because that apple-cheeked smile makes him want to give Kyungsoo smoochies.

“I should get an extra scoop for being the GPS,” Kyungsoo teases.

Jongin snorts. “Whatever you want, hyung.”

Kyungsoo preens at that. How ridiculously cute.

“If you don’t start walking now I’m going to leave you,” Kyungsoo says. Which he can only say because he’s already got a foot out of Jongin’s door and Jongin’s still sitting on his bed.

“ _ Oh come on _ !” Jongin huffs, scrambling to his feet.

Of course, Kyungsoo speed walks to the front door before Jongin can finish untangling his legs. Brat.

Their walk to town is more amicable this time. Still quiet, because Jongin refuses to make an ass out of himself, but the stolen glances and shy smiles between them make the walk feel shorter. And sweeter.

The ice cream shop doesn’t have too many flavors, which shouldn’t have surprised him, but he looks forlornly at the eight tubs of ice cream on display.

“I want mint choco chip,” says Kyungsoo, peering at the ice cream through the condensation on the glass.

“Oh,  _ ew _ ,” says Jongin.

He pretends to gag, yelping when Kyungsoo punches his arm.

“Don’t make me tell your grandmother that you’re being a meanie,” Kyungsoo hisses.

Jongin bites back a giggle, flinching when Kyungsoo raises his fist again.

“Fine, I’ll be nice,” he finally splutters.

Kyungsoo narrows his eyes at Jongin, but puts his fist down. The man behind the display gives Kyungsoo a pointed look.

“Order,” Kyungsoo says.

“What? No! You’re the hyung,” Jongin squeaks.

“But you’re paying,” says Kyungsoo.

Jongin whines and stomps his feet and pouts enough for Kyungsoo to pinch his arm.

“Such a baby,” he grumbles, but he orders for them: mint choco chip with an extra scoop for Kyungsoo, green tea with chocolate syrup for Jongin.

Bowls in hand, they sit in the corner booth, the glass barely cool against Jongin’s right elbow. He digs in, jiggling his knee in excitement. They’re both too engrossed in eating their ice cream to talk, just the clink of spoons against the bowls.

Kyungsoo is the one to break the silence. He says, “You really aren’t good at speaking, huh.”

And Jongin almost doesn’t catch that because Kyungsoo’s licking his spoon between words and his tongue is wildly distracting.

“I don’t speak much Korean,” Jongin mumbles. For the millionth time.

But now Kyungsoo is blushing, his ears red.

“I thought you were lying,” he says.

“W-what! Why?” Jongin splutters.

Now  _ his _ ears are red, because why would Kyungsoo not believe him? Was it something his grandma said?

“I thought you were saying that because you’re a city boy and we have thick accents,” Kyungsoo murmurs.

“I’m from San Jose, not Seoul!” Jongin squeaks.

Kyungsoo guffaws. “ _ San Hoje _ ...Cali?  _ America _ ?”

“ _ Yes _ !”

“Wah, no wonder I’d never seen you around before,” Kyungsoo says in a pensive voice, staring very intensely at his half-melted ice cream.

“Yeah, I stayed in pressure at my grandmother’s house,” Jongin says.

“You what?”

“Stayed...inside?” Jongin repeats, sounding it out in his head a few times for good measure.

“Oh. You’re a homebody,” Kyungsoo says, and he almost sounds pleased about that.

“Y-yeah, I guess?”

“That’s good, I like that,” Kyungsoo says, his voice barely a whisper. And…are his ears red? Is he blushing now? Oh, he is. Jongin bites his lip, his own cheeks warm now.

“A-are you a nati— homebody?”

“Sort of,” Kyungsoo says. “More than my brother, that’s for sure.”

“Brother?” Jongin asks. Kyungsoo hadn’t spoken much about his family. This was progress.

“He likes going out. With friends and stuff. Like drinking and all that,” Kyungsoo says. “It’s why he loves the city. This place was too small for him.”

Jongin heartily agrees. But then he stops himself. He’s not one to go out drinking either, but he likes that he can move around in San Jose. There are places to go, things to eat, people to see. He used to think this little village in rural Gyeonggi-do was a dump, but now he’s mature enough (and by now he means two weeks wiser than the Jongin that arrived for the current summer vacation) to appreciate this sleepy place. It’s a nice break from the rush and bustle of city life.

“He doesn’t live here anymore?” Jongin asks.

Kyungsoo shakes his head. “He moved out to Seoul ages ago. He visits sometimes. Not a lot though.” He shrugs.

“I have two noonas,” Jongin says. Because he doesn’t know what else to say.

Kyungsoo raises his eyebrows. “They don’t visit?”

“The older one lives in Seoul,” Jongin says. “The middle one has a business in San Francisco.”

“Oh,” says Kyungsoo. “That sounds nice.”

“I get free hot chocolate,” Jongin hums.

Kyungsoo giggles at that. “Such a baby.”

They finish up the rest of their ice cream in silence, then step out into the muggy afternoon.

“I hate summer here,” Jongin whines. He looks over at Kyungsoo, who is about to say something. “Don’t!”

“What?” Kyungsoo guffaws.

“I know you’re going to say ‘city boy’!” Jongin says with a pout.

Kyungsoo’s smile is smug. “There  _ are _ ways to cool down.”

“Ice cream should’ve helped,” Jongin grumbles. He scuffs the toe of his sneaker against the sidewalk and bumps his shoulder against Kyungsoo’s when the shorter snorts.

“Let’s go to the movie theater, they have stronger AC,” says Kyungsoo.

“What are we going to watch?” Jongin squeaks.

“Does it really matter?” Kyungsoo asks.

“I guess not,” Jongin mumbles.

Luckily, the theater is not too far from the ice cream shop; a short walk down the main street leads them to the rectangular awning, the poster for the latest summer flick stretched out above them. Kyungsoo pulls him to the ticket window.

“Everything here is so old,” Jongin murmurs.

The guy behind the counter gives him a dirty look, which Kyungsoo laughs at. Wow. Jongin feels betrayed.

“Oh look, let’s do that one,” Kyungsoo says. He points at the sign, and Jongin thinks the movie title has something to do with jesters and games, so he just shrugs.

Kyungsoo pays for the tickets (even after Jongin practically throws a tantrum), then acquiesces and lets Jongin pay for the nachos and soda. But Jongin won’t let him live this down, so he keeps grumbling all the way to their seats until Kyungsoo abruptly turns around, grabs Jongin’s face in his hands, and presses a really messy wet kiss on Jongin’s nose.

“W-what was that for?” Jongin squeaks, his face all red and hot.

Kyungsoo grins. “I wanted to see if that would get you to stop complaining.”

Jongin gulps. It certainly made his knees weak, and for a split second Jongin thought Kyungsoo was going to  _ kiss _ kiss him and that made his heart almost leap out of his chest. It was still racing. And he also almost drops the nachos, but Kyungsoo is faster, taking the tray from Jongin’s hands and sitting down.

They eat the nachos before the movie starts, which is kind of a bummer but they were good and Jongin is perpetually hungry. Kyungsoo twines their fingers together and rests his head on Jongin’s shoulders, which almost makes Jongin squeal in delight. He controls himself though. Mostly. He rests his cheek on Kyungsoo’s head and starts to stroke Kyungsoo’s hand with his thumb.

And wakes up almost two hours later to Kyungsoo’s giggles.

“What happened?” he murmurs groggily.

“You fell asleep for the whole movie, that’s what,” Kyungsoo snorts, brushing hair away from Jongin’s forehead.

Well, that explains Jongin’s stiff neck. He groans and stretches then slumps in his seat and sighs.

“The temperature was perfect for a nap,” Jongin sighs.

“Let’s get you home,” Kyungsoo says with a giggle.

“Not yet,” Jongin whines.

A beat of silence.

“You could come to my house,” Kyungsoo says.

Jongin chokes on his spit. Oh great, always making a fool of himself.

“That would be nice,” he finally squeaks.

“Good.”

The humidity is bad when they step out of the theater. Everything is steamy and muggy and slimy and sweaty and gross. Jongin sighs. He also hopes that things will start to feel nicer after three in the afternoon, but nothing changes.

Yet when Kyungsoo tugs on Jongin’s wrist so Jongin will take it out of his pocket (which Jongin does) and twines his fingers with Jongin’s…he doesn’t complain. Sure, he’s a little embarrassed because his palms are ridiculously sweaty, but there’s something super comforting (and absolutely adorable) about the way Kyungsoo’s hand fits in his.

They walk hand in hand until they reach Kyungsoo’s house, which is on the outskirts of the town. But in a town that small, that only means it’s about a fifteen minute walk out of the town and up the mountain road.

Kyungsoo’s house is perched on a shelf that juts out of the mountain wall; the road splits, a short incline to the entrance of Kyungsoo’s house which leaves Jongin a little winded (and he’s worried about this now because he knows his grandma’s meals have knocked him out of shape). It’s more modern than his grandma’s house, but still a hanok, a one story that takes up most of the mountain shelf.

He slips off his shoes and shuffles after Kyungsoo, eyes wide as he takes in the house. It’s cutely rustic but still new. Rustic chic. Something like that. He’s not very good at style and home decor themes. There’s a scroll painting in the entrance and traditional wooden masks on the wall of the living room, and a modern painting of what looks to be a bowl of fruits (but very  _ very _ abstract) on the divider that separates the kitchen from the living room.

Jongin flops onto the sofa, sighing when Kyungsoo turns on the fan.

“This house is all yours?” he asks.

“Um, yeah,” Kyungsoo answers with a giggle.

“Wow.”

Homeowning feels like something unattainable to Jongin. Which makes sense. He  _ is _ from California, after all, and real estate in even the shittiest parts of the worst cities ends up being too expensive for him to even entertain. And to own a home this cute? Jongin is impressed.

“Where do your parents live?” Jongin asks.

“Closer to the grove. It’s about ten minutes from here by car,” says Kyungsoo. He hands Jongin a glass of water. “I should make you eat samgyetang.”

“Absolutely not,” Jongin snaps. “Grandma always makes me eat it on the hottest days. Nope. Nu-uh. I’m not eating that anymore.”

Kyungsoo snorts. “Okay, I got it.”

“She also keeps yelling at me to stop leaving my fan on overnight without a timer,” Jongin grumbles.

Kyungsoo squeaks. “You shouldn’t!”

Jongin bites his lip. Oops. He didn’t expect someone his age to believe in fan death but looks like he was wrong. He decides to stay quiet.

“I’ll make some mulhoe for you,” Kyungsoo finally says.

There’s a bead of water quivering precariously on Kyungsoo’s bottom lip. Jongin wants to lick it off. Then he realizes he’s been staring and Kyungsoo is kind of expecting an answer, his owl eyes unblinking. Shit.

“I-I don’t know what that is,” Jongin mumbles into his glass.

“Fish soup,” Kyungsoo says. “Spicy. Cold.”

“Oh,” Jongin perks up. “That sounds nice.”

“Alright, come help me in the kitchen.”

Jongin freezes. In part because he gets a really nice view of Kyungsoo’s ass as the other walks into the kitchen, but mostly because he’s a major hazard when it comes to anything related to cooking. This isn’t going to end well.

“I can’t cook,” he sputters, rushing to his feet when Kyungsoo turns around and glares at him.

“Then you should learn,” Kyungsoo sniffs.

He plops a pot into Jongin’s hands.

“Cook the noodles.”

“What?” Jongin squawks. “I can’t—”

“Cold water, bring it to a boil, pop in the noodles,” Kyungsoo says calmly. “I’m going to cut the fish.”

Jongin shuffles to the sink and fills the pot. He glances at Kyungsoo enough times for the older to huff and turn off the spout for him. Then Kyungsoo pours out some of the water and sets it on the stove. He goes back to the cutting board, the sharp knife slicing through the fish like butter. Jongin turns on the stove and lets the pot sit, watching Kyungsoo work.

“What fish are those?” he asks.

“Mandarin fish, northern snakehead, and some amberjack,” Kyungsoo replies.

“I don’t know why I asked,” Jongin snorts. “I don’t know these fish.”

It’s Kyungsoo’s turn to snort, shaking his head. “Well, you can get the noodles out now. Left cabinet.”

Jongin shuffles over, whining when he’s greeted by the sight of several types of noodles.

“Which one?” he asks with a pout.

“Somyeon.”

Jongin gulps and reaches for a bag. “These?”

Kyungsoo looks up, gives him a curt nod, then goes back to cutting.

“How much do I put in?” Jongin asks, hugging the bag to his chest.

“You’re a big boy,” Kyungsoo replies.

For some reason, that makes Jongin’s ears get really hot and really red. “W-what’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means put a lot, dummy,” Kyungsoo giggles.

“Okay,” Jongin mumbles.

He pours out a bunch and puts away the rest. Then he stands in front of the pot with his hands on his hips.

“You’re such a dork,” Kyungsoo chuckles.

“Well I don’t want to burn this,” Jongin grumbles.

“Stir it so they don’t stick,” Kyungsoo says.

He puts a wooden spoon into Jongin’s hand, then gets to work on the broth. Jongin wants to watch him, but he’s scared he’ll ruin the noodles to he stares intensely at the bubbling water and steam. He gives it the occasional stir, so concentrated on his task that he screams when Kyungsoo touches his arm.

“You’re going to hurt yourself,” Kyungsoo chuckles. “Put a lid on it for a bit.”

“Okay,” Jongin squeaks. He fumbles with the lid, then awkwardly stands behind Kyungsoo, wooden spoon still in hand.

“I give you permission to relax,” Kyungsoo jokes.

“I’m terrified of being in the kitchen,” Jongin says. He stomps his feet for good measure.

“Can you set a table?” Kyungsoo teases.

Jongin sucks his teeth. “Yes.”

And he does, with Kyungsoo’s really nice silver chopsticks and cute bowls. He sets out some of the banchan (after Kyungsoo lists everything, and thankfully it’s all stuff Jongin is familiar with), refills their glasses of water, and stands at the head of the table with his chest puffed up with pride.

“Hm, not bad for a San Jose boy,” Kyungsoo says.

“See? I can do things good,” he says, slinging an arm around Kyungsoo’s neck.

“Yeah whatever,” Kyungsoo huffs.

He slips out of Jongin’s embrace to drain the noodles, which Jongin a perfect view of his ass. And because he’s feeling naughty and bold, he smacks Kyungsoo’s ass. The older yelps, whirling around to smack Jongin’s arm.

“Don’t smack so hard,” Kyungsoo huffs.

Jongin blushes. Because he totally did  _ not _ imagine Kyungsoo’s bare asscheeks red and marked with the imprint of Jongin’s hand. Okay, maybe he did.

“Dunk this in ice water,” Kyungsoo tells him.

“Wait why?”

“It’s cold soup.”

Jongin gives him a sheepish smile. “Right. I’ll do that.”

He dips them in the cold water. Then he does it again. And again. And one more time. And another time. Kyungsoo’s hand shoots out to stop him from dipping them again.

“Just...drain them,” Kyungsoo says, his eyes bright with laughter.

“Again?” Jongin asks, but he smiles sheepishly when Kyungsoo glares at him.

He drains them and blushes when Kyungsoo takes over and splits them into two neat, cute bunches. Then Kyungsoo’s back to mixing the broth, cutting the vegetables, mixing everything into two bowls, and serving them. Jongin licks his lips and follows Kyungsoo to the table.

“Eat well,” Kyungsoo says. He pauses and waits for Jongin to mumble the same, but he still slaps the back of Jongin’s hand when he goes to pick up his chopsticks.

“Ow! Why?” Jongin whines.

“Say it with enthusiasm,” Kyungsoo huffs.

Jongin sucks his teeth, but he repeats the phrase with a chipper voice and a ridiculously bright smile.

“Better,” Kyungsoo sniffs.

And they dig in. Jongin closes his eyes between bites, savoring the spicy sweetness of the broth and the chewiness of the noodles. It’s all perfect. He moans in appreciation, blushing when he catches Kyungsoo’s scandalized stare.

“Sorry, it just tastes really good,” he mumbles, his blush deepening when a half chewed noodle slips out of his mouth.

“I like people who appreciate good food,” Kyungsoo says softly.

Jongin’s stomach flutters. What if Kyungsoo is flirting with him? Is that why his cheeks are all pink and dewy and he’s got that absolutely adorable smile? No. No, no, that can’t be right. Kyungsoo is too cute for him.

But once they finish eating and Jongin helps him clean up, he thinks maybe, possibly Kyungsoo could have been flirting with him. Hell, he doesn’t even know if Kyungsoo’s gay, but his heart wants him to hold out hope so he does. Foolishly. That doesn’t stop the warmth in his cheeks when Kyungsoo smiles at him. Wow, his crush is hopeless.

But he’s on such a high from Kyungsoo’s food and his smiles and his hugs and his touches that he doesn’t even care that his grandma yells at him when he gets home because he won’t eat dinner. He’s too full to eat more (and he doesn’t want to wash the taste of the mulhoe broth from his mouth with any other food, but he doesn’t want to offend his grandma so he doesn’t tell her that), so he goes out onto the balcony with the purring tabby on his lap and watches the sunset, his heart singing.

❂❂❂

“Let’s go to the stream.” 

Jongin doesn’t even get to protest this. Turns out grandma had already packed a bag for him, pleased that her grandson was  _ finally _ friends with someone in the town. Jongin has half a mind to tell her that he’s best friends with the cat, but that would mean unintentionally scorning Kyungsoo, which he doesn’t want to do again.

Especially not when he sees Kyungsoo’s smiling face waiting for him in the living room. He  _ almost _ forgives Kyungsoo for dragging him out.

Now that they’ve established that Jongin has the speaking level of a four year old, Kyungsoo is a lot more chatty. On the way to the stream, Kyungsoo tells him about his favorite songs, his favorite places to hang out, the town traditions. Jongin tries to follow along; he gets most of it, but he’s honestly content with just absorbing Kyungsoo’s joy through the tone of his voice and the way his peachy cheeks glow.

Once they arrive, Kyungsoo lays their things out on a big flat rock and climbs onto it with bare feet. Jongin watches him forlornly, because he’s already so sweaty he doesn’t want to do anything else. He wants to sleep. But Kyungsoo’s beaming at him from above, hands on his hips, and his enthusiasm is too cute to ignore.

“You’re always complaining about the heat,” Kyungsoo says. “You should be rushing in right now.”

Jongin sighs and peels his shirt off. He tries to hide his smile, because Kyungsoo is definitely checking him out right now, so he busies himself with laying his shirt out flat on the rock. He doesn’t bother with sunscreen when they’re under such a dense canopy, but he does toe off his sandals before he goes to the edge of the stream. And walks into the water. Fuck.

The water is  _ freezing _ , which makes things awkward because now he has hard nipples. Jongin shivers, folding his arms across his chest, and promptly frowns when Kyungsoo guffaws at him.

“It’s easier if you jump in,” Kyungsoo says with a giggle.

“Let’s see you do it!” Jongin whines.

Kyungsoo gives him a sly smile and pulls off his shirt. Oh. Wow, his waist is small. It makes his ass— No. No! He’s not going to keep that train of thought going, especially not when Kyungsoo is running across the flat of the rock before he jumps.

The impact of Kyungsoo’s landing sprays Jongin with cold water.  _ Fuck _ . Now his nipples are hard  _ and _ he’s shivering, but he refuses to go further than shin deep. Kyungsoo pops up a few feet away from him, grinning.

“See? Not so bad.”

Jongin pulls a face, but he doesn’t get to be bratty for long; Kyungsoo splashes water at him, and Jongin’s reaction is to scream. Nice.

“If you do it slowly it’s going to hurt,” Kyungsoo says.

“What’s going to hurt?” Jongin squeaks.

Kyungsoo gives him a pointed look, eyes flicking down to Jongin’s crotch for a split second.  _ Oh _ .

“This doesn’t lead me!” Jongin says.

“What?”

“I mean this doesn’t le— this doesn’t convince me,” Jongin huffs.

Kyungsoo laughs. “Going slow makes it feel like someone kicked you.”

Jongin whines and stomps (as best as he can in the six inches of water he’s standing in), then grits his teeth.

“Fine,” he huffs.

He steps out of the water, then breaks into a run. He jumps, cannonballing into the water. When he pops out, Kyungsoo wiping water from his eyes with a giggle.

“Better?” he asks.

Jongin’s teeth are chattering. So no, not better at all. But on the plus side, his balls didn’t feel like they’d gotten freezer burn.

“Barely,” he finally says.

“So wimpy,” Kyungsoo says, sucking his teeth.

Jongin’s jaw drops. Him? A  _ wimp _ ? Oh no, he isn’t going to let this slander stand. He dives for Kyungsoo’s legs and easily knocks him over. But Kyungsoo pops out of the water in a second, splashing cold water with such force that it goes up Jongin’s nose. Great.

Jongin’s not one to play nice though, so he lunges and pinches Kyungsoo’s nipple. The other yelps and laughs.

“That’s not fair!” he protests, rubbing his sore nipple.

“You got water up my nose!” Jongin replies.

“Fine, how about we call a truce,” Kyungsoo says.

He considers it, walking closer to Kyungsoo’s side and feinting a splash. Kyungsoo flinches, yelling when nothing happens.

“That’s not truce-like!”

Jongin giggles.

“Fine, truce.”

Kyungsoo narrows his eyes at Jongin, inching away from him. But Jongin means it, so he tries to swim a few laps.

Except Jongin can’t take it anymore. He’s shivering, suddenly wishing for the usual heat of the day.

“I’m getting out,” Jongin says.

Kyungsoo flicks water his way but doesn’t stop him. He just watches Jongin climb onto the rock and lay out his limbs to the fullest to sun himself.

The sky is unusually blue, with fat clouds lingering on the horizon. It doesn’t take long for him to dry off, but the heat makes him sleepy so he closes his eyes.

And opens them when he feels cold droplets on him.

“Sorry,” Kyungsoo murmurs, standing over him. “I was going to move your arm. You’re taking up too much space.”

Jongin throws his arm across his stomach to let Kyungsoo lay down next to him, then he lets it flop onto Kyungsoo, whose skin is cold and wet to the touch.

“Aish, are you already hot?” Kyungsoo huffs, but he doesn’t move Jongin’s arm. In fact, he curls his fingers around Jongin’s forearm, brushing his pruny thumb against Jongin’s warm skin.

Obviously, Jongin is now blushing. He looks over at Kyungsoo’s profile, at the wet hair plastered onto his forehead, the droplets that glint along the length of his neck. He’s totally, irrevocably, falling for this guy. He can stare as much as he wants, because Kyungsoo’s eyes are closed, but soon he finds that his own eyes are getting kind of droopy, coaxed by the warmth.

Kyungsoo wakes him up an hour and a half later by brushing the hair out of Jongin’s face. Jongin’s eyes flutter open and he groans, turning to nuzzle the palm of Kyungsoo’s hand.

“Come on, sleepyhead,” Kyungsoo says with a giggle. “We should get back before your grandmother starts to worry.”

“I wanna sleep,” Jongin moans.

“You can sleep at home,” Kyungsoo says, picking a stray eyelash off Jongin’s cheek. He starts to stand, but Jongin grabs a hold of his wrist.

“Can I hug you?” Jongin blurts.

Kyungsoo giggles. “You don’t have to ask.”

“So…that’s a yes?” Jongin says.

“Yes, city boy, it is,” Kyungsoo says.

That’s enough motivation for Jongin to stand up. He’s honestly not sure what prompted him to ask, but he’s glad he did. He pulls Kyungsoo close, burying his nose in the shorter’s neck. Kyungsoo hugs him back, his cheek smushed against Jongin’s chest.

On the walk back, all Jongin can think about is just how warm Kyungsoo felt against him. He has a feeling his ears are going to permanently become red.

☁︎☁︎☁︎

It’s just his luck that a day after he goes to the stream, he catches a cold. This wasn’t how he wanted to stay home, sniffling and congested and miserable. His grandma is stuffing him full of samgyetang and seaweed soup. He hates them both even more now. What he doesn’t hate is that Kyungsoo is also babying him. Once he finds out that Jongin is sick, he comes over with bean sprout soup, baesuk, and five-grain rice. Which he proudly tells Jongin he cooked himself. Well shit, if Jongin hadn’t considered him husband material before, this certainly convinced him. 

But the absolute  _ best _ part is that Kyungsoo settles down on the bed with him to  _ cuddle _ . Jongin had swaddled himself in blankets (which his grandma had promptly ripped off when Kyungsoo arrived), but Kyungsoo doesn’t let him roll back into a blanket burrito. Nope. He settles onto the bed with his back to the wall and opens his arms for Jongin to crawl over and faceplant into Kyungsoo’s chest. Ugh. Perfection. Especially because once he does, Kyungsoo starts to play with his hair. Fuck, this is  _ heavenly _ . Suddenly he’s happy he got a cold.

“You’ll get sick,” Jongin mumbles halfheartedly, but he doesn’t want Kyungsoo to stop. The older’s warmth is comforting, especially each time the fan blows cool air their way. Jongin shivers and scoots up, his sweaty forehead pressed against the softness of Kyungsoo’s neck.

“That’s what yuzu tea is for,” Kyungsoo says, draping his arm down Jongin’s back, his hand resting on Jongin’s waist. “Which  _ you _ should be drinking.”

Jongin grunts and closes his eyes. The mug of yuzu tea his grandma brought over sits untouched on his desk. He’s pretty sure a fly already roamed the whole rim; the tabby gave the mug a whisker-twitching sniff too.

“Don’t wanna,” he whines. He kicks his feet for good measure.

“ _ Fine _ ,” Kyungsoo giggles; he rests his cheek on Jongin’s head, which makes Jongin sigh and bunch Kyungsoo’s shirt in his fist. “At least you’ve been eating everything else.”

Jongin hums in assent. Then it’s quiet. The hum of the fan, the purring tabby on top of his backpack, and silence. He’s being lulled to sleep by Kyungsoo’s fingers in his hair, the dewy warmth of his sweat-damp skin that releases the earthy scent of tea and sweet perfume of Korean plums that Jongin has come to associate with Kyungsoo.

“Your grandma told me she worries about you,” Kyungsoo says softly, interrupting the silence.

“Isn’t that what grandmothers do?” Jongin snorts. Kyungsoo smacks his arm lightly.

“She said you were lonely,” Kyungsoo continues. “She worries that you haven’t found…a friend yet.”

“Friend?”

“Girlfriend,” Kyungsoo says begrudgingly.

Jongin snickers. “That’s never going to happen.”

Kyungsoo stills for a split second, then resumes threading his fingers through Jongin’s hair. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I’m gay,” Jongin blurts; he realizes a split second later that maybe he should have reconsidered. This is rural Korea after all, not San Jose.

Kyungsoo sucks in his breath, his fingertips paused against the nape of Jongin’s neck.

Then, “I am, too.”

It’s Jongin’s turn to gasp. And then he very smoothly chokes on his gasp. Great. Now he has a coughing fit, which means Kyungsoo’s rubbing circles on his back and pressing a cup of water in his hands. All of those little touches make him worse though, because  _ Kyungsoo is gay _ . Kyungsoo might even  _ like him _ . Holy shit.

“Your parents know?” Jongin asks, clearing his throat after he sips the water.

Kyungsoo sighs. He threads his fingers in Jongin’s hair again, petting him, and it takes all of Jongin’s strength not to melt.

“Yes,” he finally says. “They were…disappointed. My mother didn’t speak to me for a month. Father didn’t seem to care as much. I think he was just relieved that I’m staying to take over the orchard.”

“You want to stay?” Jongin asks, almost incredulous.

“Yeah,” Kyungsoo says. He sounds…wistful. “I tried Seoul, but I transferred to the local uni after a year. The city and I don’t get along. It’s too hectic. Of course hyung didn’t think so. The second he knew he could get out of here and never come back, he took the chance.”

He sighs, letting his fingertips drop to Jongin’s neck. He tugs on Jongin’s earlobe, giggling when Jongin squeaks.

“But I love my maesil,” says Kyungsoo. “I love being outside and working in the grove. I hate sweating but it’s part of the job. And nothing beats a good cup of maesil tea after the harvest.”

“Never tried it,” Jongin mumbles sleepily.

“What?” Kyungsoo squeaks; he tries to sit up in his surprise but Jongin grunts and makes himself extra heavy so the older can’t move. “Oof, you really pinned me down here, huh?”

“Mm,” Jongin snuggles Kyungsoo’s chest and makes himself comfortable again.

“Remind me to make you some maesil tea before you leave,” Kyungsoo huffs.

“Mmkay,” Jongin sighs.

And then it’s back to the quiet. Kyungsoo slides down a little on the bed, giggling when Jongin grumbles and readjusts, then he’s threading his fingers through Jongin’s hair again, his other hand draped on Jongin’s forearm. Jongin can’t resist the sleep that comes over him, especially not when the tabby makes its way over to the bed and settles on Jongin and Kyungsoo’s legs, purring up a storm. Inevitably, Jongin falls asleep.

❂❂❂

Jongin is absolutely in love with Kyungsoo’s house. He’s been here exactly seven times since Kyungsoo first invited him after the movie not-date, each time for a wildly delicious dinner prepared by Kyungsoo.

Today, it’s the scent of stew, rich and meaty and bubbling. Kyungsoo pops his head out from the kitchen, a beautiful, bright smile on his lips. Before Jongin can say hello, his stomach growls.

“Greetings to you, too,” Kyungsoo says with a giggle.

“Sorry,” Jongin says meekly. “It smells good.”

“It’s galbi jjim,” Kyungsoo says proudly, “and bulgogi jungol.”

“ _ And _ ?” Jongin squeaks. “How am I supposed to get home after eating all of that!”

“Well this is the last time I’ll get to cook for you,” Kyungsoo chuckles.

And that hurts more than Jongin expected it to. He leaves next week, but he’s been trying to not think about it. It looks like Kyungsoo’s been trying to not think about it, too.

“Well,” Jongin says, “This might just work better if I get to crash on your sofa then.”

Kyungsoo giggles, grabbing Jongin by the wrist and pulling him into the kitchen. Jongin has to act like that little touch doesn’t set his heart aflutter.

“Serve the rice,” he says, handing Jongin a bowl.

“Should I be doing this?” he asks, looking down at the silver rim.

“Eh?” Kyungsoo’s eyes widen. “Jongin, it’s  _ rice _ . You’re not even cooking it, you just have to scoop it into the bowl!”

Heat seeps across his cheeks. He  _ does _ feel that useless, honestly. Kyungsoo sees this on his face and scoffs; he makes a grab for the bowl but Jongin jumps out of his reach.

“No, no! I’ll do it,” Jongin squeaks.

Kyungsoo narrows his eyes at Jongin and slaps the rice spoon into Jongin’s waiting hand.

“Don’t ruin it.”

Jongin gulps.

It turns out serving rice is no big deal. Well, Jongin accidentally lets half a spoonful plop onto the counter, but he stuffs it into his bowl before Kyungsoo notices, then serves them on the circular dining table. Kyungsoo brings over both of the meats, rearranging some of the side dishes in order to get them to fit. The table completely covered in food, but Jongin’s not going to complain, not when it’s Kyungsoo’s cooking.

They sit and dig in.

“Ugh, handsome,” Jongin moans around a mouthful of short rib and rice.

“What?” Kyungsoo asks.

Jongin notices the bright red of Kyungsoo’s ears, then replays what he just said. “ _ Fuck _ ! I meant delicious! I’m so stupid,  _ oh my god _ .”

His hands fly up to his ears, rubbing them as his cheeks burn. He’s so  _ stupid _ .

Kyungsoo looks equally flustered, but also…disappointed? Jongin tells himself it’s because Kyungsoo probably thought Jongin was smart…yeah…that sounds right…

“Not handsome?” Kyungsoo asks; he meets Jongin’s eyes for a split second then ducks his head, cheeks on fire.

Oh.  _ Oh. _ Is he…flirting?

Yes, he  _ is _ . There’s no other reason why Kyungsoo would be so rattled by Jongin’s slip up. But now he realizes he’s been staring at Kyungsoo like an idiot, so he chuckles.

“Very handsome,” Jongin says.

Kyungsoo’s head shoots up, incredulity written on his face, but once he sees Jongin’s smile he relaxes. He licks his lips (shit, his tongue looks cute, his lips so plush and kiss-worthy), his apple cheeks glowing.

“You are, too,” Kyungsoo says.

The rest of their meal is uneventful. Jongin stays quiet on purpose, unwilling to make himself look dumb again, but he’s definitely stealing glances Kyungsoo’s way the whole time. And he’s also stealing glances when they clean up.

They let the food accommodate in their stomachs, then Kyungsoo makes some tea. He tells Jongin to take out the rice cakes, but ends up doing it himself when Jongin whimpers that he doesn’t know how to tell them apart. Oops.

And then they settle on Kyungsoo’s sofa, Jongin’s legs tangled between Kyungsoo’s. He watches Kyungsoo take a sip from his tea, transfixed by the way Kyungsoo’s lips drag against the lip of the mug; his eyes widen when Kyungsoo looks his way and he tries to (very unsubtly) make it look like he was reaching for his own mug.

“It’s to the left,” Kyungsoo says with a giggle.

“Huh?”

“Your tea, it’s to the left,” he repeats, but Jongin’s honestly too distracted by the flush of his round cheeks to process what Kyungsoo is telling him.

“Yes,” he says absentmindedly.

“What dimension are you in, Kim Jongin?” Kyungsoo guffaws.

“Yours,” Jongin squeaks.

Great, now he’s being disgustingly corny. But it makes Kyungsoo laugh and avert his eyes, all bashful and cute. …And then he’s not smiling anymore.

“You won’t be for much longer,” he says softly.

The reminder of his departure instantly kills any sort of joy he has. Yeah, now his smile is gone too.

“I…don’t want to think about that,” Jongin says.

“Then don’t,” Kyungsoo whispers.

Um, oh. Oh wow, okay, Kyungsoo is very close.  _ Super _ close. Like, their-noses-are-touching close. Kyungsoo’s eyes are closed, and his lips—

They’re kissing. Kyungsoo is  _ kissing him. _ His lips are soft, so full and plush against Jongin’s own. He cups Kyungsoo’s cheek, his muffled moan filling the silence when he feels Kyungsoo tongue at the seam of his lips. He tastes of maesil tea and the sweetness of honey pastry; Jongin slides his hand away from Kyungsoo’s neck, letting it rest on Kyungsoo’s thigh. He wants to knead it  _ really badly _ , but this is their first kiss, so he won’t. But he wants to.

They break apart but stay close enough for their noses to bump. Jongin giggles.

“I’ve been wanting to kiss you for a long time,” Kyungsoo says softly.

“Me too,” Jongin squeaks.

“But I also didn’t want to,” Kyungsoo continues, “because I know you’ll never stay here.”

Ouch. Jongin’s hearts splinters. “You don’t know that.”

“Jongin, you were complaining about the heat the whole time you were here,” Kyungsoo says. “And you’re a city boy at heart. This place is too small for you.”

“You don’t know that,” Jongin repeats. He bumps his nose against Kyungsoo’s, but— nope, the prickling of tears comes anyway. “I’d like for us to be boyfriends. I mean, it doesn’t have to be right this second because I’m leaving, but I like you.”

“I like you too,” Kyungsoo says, his voice small. “I think that’s a good idea.”

“I graduate next year,” says Jongin. “I could practice my Korean, and I’ll visit a lot. I think I’ll be tired of the city by then.”

Kyungsoo doesn’t respond. He twines their fingers together and sighs. And since Jongin is out of words, he presses another kiss to Kyungsoo’s lips. The shorter kisses him back with a chuckle, but squeaks when Jongin catches his lower lip between his teeth.

“I didn’t think I’d ever meet anyone, honestly,” he says almost breathlessly when they part.

“Hm?”

“I mean I never thought I’d fall for anyone,” Kyungsoo continues. “What are the chances of finding another gay man in the countryside, and what are the chances he’s comfortable enough to be with me, and what are the chances we’d even be attracted to each other?’

“You don’t have to think about that now,” Jongin says gruffly. And  _ no _ , he’s not jealous of some imaginary farmer boy being with Kyungsoo. Absolutely not.

“You don’t have to sleep on the couch, by the way,” says Kyungsoo.

“You have a guest bedroom and you didn’t tell me?” Jongin squawks.

“I don’t,” Kyungsoo says with a giggle.

Oh. So that means Jongin would be sleeping in Kyungsoo’s room.  _ Oh _ .

“Together?” he asks. Then he realizes he didn’t say what he was thinking out loud so he sounds stupid.

But it looks like Kyungsoo gets it. “Not to have sex.”

Jongin blushes at that. Yeah, he still blushes when people talk about sex.

“It’s too soon,” Kyungsoo teases. “Besides, I ate  _ way _ too much to be doing anything that requires more movement than me flopping onto that bed.”

Jongin snorts. “I ate too much too.”

“I know you did,” Kyungsoo huffs, bumping his nose against Jongin’s. “Now finish up that tea, which you haven’t even tried yet even though I made it specially for you, so we can cuddle before we go to sleep.”

Jongin is tempted to chug his tea, but he takes his first sip and is so enthralled by the fresh sweetness of the maesil that he almost chokes. Granted, he’s already tasted it in his kiss with Kyungsoo, but  _ wow _ , this is good.

“ _ Oh shit _ ,” he says, blushing because he should probably swallow before he talks; some of the tea spills onto his chin, but he wipes it off with his fingers and licks them clean before Kyungsoo notices. He thinks. Oops, no. Kyungsoo noticed.

“When you drink things, the liquid is supposed to stay inside your mouth,” Kyungsoo says. He tries to be serious, but he starts giggling two seconds later.

“You’re being mean to me,” Jongin whines.

“Am I?” Kyungsoo teases. “You missed a spot.”

Jongin pouts, but Kyungsoo pulls him close and dips his tongue into the seam of Jongin’s lips. He whimpers, lips parting as Kyungsoo kisses him, deep and hot and wet and full of tongue. Jongin gives in to temptation this time, kneading the softness of Kyungsoo’s thighs and Kyungsoo whimpers into their kiss. And then Kyungsoo’s hands are making their way down Jongin’s chest, slipping under Jongin’s shirt.

All of this is going straight to Jongin’s dick. Oops.

“Maybe we should—” but Kyungsoo cuts him off with another kiss. Then— oh, they’re not kissing anymore. Jongin’s intention was to suggest they stop but he finds himself chasing Kyungsoo’s lips.

“Maybe we should what?” Kyungsoo asks.

Jongin can’t think straight when Kyungsoo’s voice is husky and just a little bit lust-rough, and not when Kyungsoo’s fingers are tracing patterns up his abs. Fuck.

“Stop! I think we should stop. I think. Maybe. I can’t think,” Jongin whines. His voice cracks and he shifts in his seat, wincing when he realizes his pants are tented.

Kyungsoo looks down and Jongin sees the heat creep up his neck. And now his own neck is hot. He tries to cross his legs, but that just makes things worse. Kyungsoo bites his lip and shifts in his seat, but thankfully he says nothing. He just picks up the tea and presses it into Jongin’s hands.

“Drink up,” he says bashfully. “Maybe it’ll help the heat.” He steals another look at Jongin’s still tented pants, then busies himself with another honey pastry.

Jongin slurps the tea. He’s going to act like Kyungsoo didn’t notice his semi hardon and keep drinking until he sees the bottom of the mug. Which mostly works out, except for when he chokes on his drink because he’s distracted by the way Kyungsoo’s tongue pokes out to clean a little bit of roasted soybean dust from his lips after he pops an injeolmi into his mouth.

“You okay?” Kyungsoo asks, patting Jongin’s back.

Jongin gives him a teary-eyed nod, then drains his mug and wipes his eyes.

“Now I really can’t move,” he sniffles.

Kyungsoo chuckles and flicks Jongin’s earlobe. “Well I’m not carrying you.”

Jongin pretends to look hurt, a hand to his chest as he lets out a sob, but that morphs into a squeal when Kyungsoo pulls his ear.

“You’re the hyung!” he whines. “You should be babying me!”

“Okay, baby,” Kyungsoo snorts. “Go brush your teethies so I can tuck you into bed.”

“Not like  _ that _ ,” Jongin growls. He dances out of Kyungsoo’s reach before the other can pinch his arm.

“Help me clean up,” Kyungsoo huffs.

Jongin giggles, but he complies, but not before he bumps his hip against Kyungsoo’s and wiggles his eyebrows. Kyungsoo rolls his eyes but smiles. Maybe Jongin actually has this flirting thing under control after all.

There’s something so domestic about doing the dishes with Kyungsoo that makes Jongin sober up from his giggly, giddy self. He hasn’t given his future much thought, in part because he becomes an anxious mess when he  _ does _ try to think about what he wants, but  _ this _ . This feels nice. He likes this, watching the soap run off the plates as he rinses them while Kyungsoo hums a trot song and dries the dishes beside him, the low whirr of the fan in the background. He sidles a little closer to Kyungsoo’s side so that their shoulders touch; Kyungsoo looks up at him, a question in his eyes, but when he sees Jongin’s timid smile he smiles back, his cheeks round and pink.

“Did you enjoy your last dinner here?” Kyungsoo asks.

Jongin hands him the last plate and sighs. He’s still trying to avoid thinking about his impending departure.

Still, he says, “I did. Thank you.”

Kyungsoo’s smile this time is not as bright, and when he puts the plate away he sniffles.

“Let me get you a toothbrush,” he murmurs before he stalks off.

While Jongin brushes his teeth, Kyungsoo is changing into his pajamas. He has to admit he’s a little disappointed, because he wants to see Kyungsoo shirtless again and give him an awkward warm hug, but dental hygiene is more important (and he doesn’t want to look like a creep). But then he realizes, when he goes into Kyungsoo’s room and takes off his own shirt, that he probably looks like a creep anyway. He’s about to unbutton his pants when he hears Kyungsoo clear his throat.

“I-I usually sleep in my boxers,” Jongin stutters.

“That’s fine,” Kyungsoo squeaks. “I don’t have anything that fits you anyway.”

“Right.” Jongin shimmies out of his pants, blushing when he sees Kyungsoo fiddle with the red shell of his ear. This is going to be an awkward night.

Bashfulness doesn’t stop Kyungsoo from pulling Jongin onto the bed, and it doesn’t stop Kyungsoo from pushing Jongin down so that he flops onto the pillow. Jongin giggles starfishing on the mattress to take up as much space as he can, but instead of protesting, Kyungsoo drapes himself on top of Jongin.

He discovers that Kyungsoo fits perfectly in his arms. The smaller buries his face in Jongin’s neck, his arms wrapped around Jongin’s middle, and one leg thrown over Jongin’s thigh. The AC in the house is weak, as most AC in Korea is (he’s really used to the blasting AC in San Jose), so he’s sweating a little under Kyungsoo’s heat, but he doesn’t mind it. He feels comfortable. Besides, he doesn’t have the heart to tell Kyungsoo to move, not when Kyungsoo’s breathing is already starting to even out. Jongin shifts a little, collecting his wayward limbs enough to be able to bury his nose in Kyungsoo’s hair, and falls asleep.

☁︎☁︎☁︎

On his last day, Kyungsoo comes to see him off. They’re in his room, standing between his book bag and his luggage, the tabby taking one last nap on Jongin’s bag. Grandma is in the kitchen, making Jongin one last lunch for the summer, then he’s off to take the train to Incheon.

“I’m going to miss you, city boy,” Kyungsoo says. He chuckles, but the mirth doesn’t reach his eyes.

Fuck. Jongin told himself he wasn’t going to cry, but he already feels the prickle of tears building up.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” Jongin says. His voice cracks. Fuck. He winces.

Kyungsoo tweaks Jongin’s nose, giggling when Jongin scrunches it.

“It’ll be a nice birthday gift,” says Kyungsoo.

“It will be,” Jongin says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. And because he’s trying not to cry.

But a big fat tear rolls down his cheek anyway. He sucks his teeth and angrily brushes it away; Kyungsoo’s warm palm cups his cheek, and that soft touch is enough to make Jongin melt. He sniffles and wrinkles his nose against the tears.

“You’re going to make  _ me _ cry,” Kyungsoo says with a giggle, his voice thick.

So, naturally, Jongin cries. He pulls Kyungsoo in for a hug, burying his face in the crook of Kyungsoo’s shoulder. Kyungsoo hides his face in Jongin’s chest; it doesn’t take long for the wetness of Kyungsoo’s tears to soak through Jongin’s shirt, but he’s also making a mess so he doesn’t mind it. The tabby rubs itself on Jongin’s leg, then snakes between Kyungsoo’s feet and his, purring.

“I think he wants you to stay, too,” Kyungsoo hiccups, pulling away from the hug.

Jongin pulls him close again, burying his nose in Kyungsoo’s hair.

“Don’t wipe off your snot on me,” Kyungsoo huffs.

“Too late,” Jongin giggles, snorting when Kyungsoo shoves him away.

“I take it back, I’m not going to miss you now,” Kyungsoo grumbles, running a hand through his hair.

“I didn’t actually put boogers in your hair!” Jongin squeaks.

The tabby yowls between them, clearly unhappy that Jongin’s foot brushed against its belly.

“Take care of yourself,” Kyungsoo says softly, pulling Jongin close. They don’t hug; Kyungsoo starts fussing over him instead, brushing hair out of Jongin’s eyes and wiping Jongin’s cheeks. “Eat well, pet lots of cats and dogs, get good grades, love your parents, and—”

“Hyung,” Jongin whispers.

Kyungsoo sniffles. “It’s rude to interrupt.”

“I’m gonna miss you,” Jongin says anyway.

Kyungsoo smacks Jongin’s chest, but he’s biting back a smile. His eyes glimmer with unshed tears, and because Jongin doesn’t want to see him cry, he kisses Kyungsoo. Just a quick peck. Then another kiss on his nose, and one on his cheek. Kyungsoo giggles and tries to hide his face.

“Save it for when you come back,” Kyungsoo squeals.

“So I can warm you up with my kisses?” Jongin asks.

“Yes, you cornball,” Kyungsoo says.

But he doesn’t protest when Jongin kisses him again, this time long and sweet and maybe just a little raunchy. When they part for breath, Kyungsoo looks at him with sparkling eyes. It makes Jongin’s heart flip.

“I’ll make sure to keep out of plants that give rashes next time,” he jokes.

“I think that sounds like a swell idea,” Kyungsoo replies.

“Jongin! Your sister’s husband is here, we need to get your stuff out front!” his grandma calls.

Jongin whines and kicks his feet, which earns him a swipe from the tabby. Jongin squats to give the cat one last head scratch, which the tabby graciously accepts with a purr, then he presses one last messy kiss on Kyungsoo’s lips.

“Til the new year,” he murmurs.

“Til the new year,” Kyungsoo replies with a sad smile.


End file.
